


the essence of mortality.

by citrusblush



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Figurative Language, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, also, lots of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusblush/pseuds/citrusblush
Summary: There is no why as to how everything led up to this singular moment. The unbecoming of deities is just as wretched as the process of which mortals endure to reach their celestial status, both could go awry. It doesn’t matter now, though these tears are for another, though deep in his unbeaten heart, he knows.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin
Kudos: 10





	the essence of mortality.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Please do mind the tags this time, it’s not very graphic in a literal sense but it does depict the death scene of characters so uh,,, yeah! It seems that Chanlix nation has awoken :OOO (hello hello!!) This is a revised version of a work I posted last year, you might remember parts of it as it used to be published as either “nothing gold can stay” or something like that and it was either Chanlix or some other ship but I have the memory bank of a goldfish so ;w; 
> 
> This was very, very impulsive and has minimal editing, but thank you to [softvoice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softvoice/pseuds/softvoice), who saw an earlier draft and helped me with phrasing and all that fun stuff!
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

Golden ichor drips down from the starry-eyed god’s face, splattering onto the marble flooring of the citadel; high up and hidden in the clouds. The cut across his left cheek is thin, but will surely leave a scar in its haste; not that it’d have enough time to clot up and scar. The sword glints blindingly, mockingly in the invasive beams of sunlight, still poised over Chan’s heart. In this citadel shrouded by clouds, hidden away from the mortal eye who believes bashfully that it is the epitome of paradise, this scene laid bare is quite the opposite. The unbecoming, the unraveling of this scorned soul, so broken and shattered— all because it learned to love. It’s more than breaking rules and hard-earned trust, more than deferring the Elder God’s reign.

It’s _ungodly_.

The unbecoming of deities is just as wretched as the process of which mortals endure to reach their celestial status, both could go awry. It doesn’t matter now, though these tears are for another, though deep in his unbeaten heart, he knows. He's always known that their end— his end, would have never been a pretty sight, yet it's worth all that he's given and more. The god who has always given too much, more than he had to offer, more than what he could ever imagine— giving his immortality, the very essence of his mere existence now, before the heavens.

A sword clatters onto the ground, a crack on the pristine floor from the force from being thrown. Pure wrath behind a sheen of cold ice coats the blade, the force itself enough to cause tremors across the planes. A shudder, permanent grimace gracing his features and unspoken, unexplainable emotion evoking in his once bright orbs. They're dull now, void of any hope that either of them will make it out alive.

Soon, the floor paned across the skies will be covered with a sorrowful painting of ichor and cruel laughter from inhumane creatures, so twisted and warped by their never-ending thirst for _more_. The greed that rushes through their veins, nevertheless the colour of blood that drips from their wounds— golden or crimson, it was all the same.

Felix shouldn’t have had enough strength left in him, yet the will— the _need_ to survive; to see the Sunrise in the East and paint the skies in gold has driven him to have a surge of desperation. Desperation, that will soon go in vain and become lost amongst the vast celestial bodies dwindling about within the syzygy. They all know it, that the Elder God does not have any mercy for those who they deem inferior and no longer of use.

There is no _why_ as to how everything led up to this singular moment, they know better than to question the Elder God.

An anguished sob builds up in Felix’s chest, clogging up, and cutting off with a heartbreaking gasp instead. An apology, a pained whimper to spare the older standing before it bubbles up and dies on his lips. His eyes are glazing over with sorrow and pity, Chan knows that his lover won’t live past this day. Neither of them will. His heart aches, his soul mourns for the unjustified death of dreams and illusions of a future. Felix should have had the chance to live, to raise the Sun and dye the skies from darkened violets and primrose pink, replaced with hues of vivid tangerine and smooth honey. It isn’t fair that his life, so immortally short is to be ripped away without any mercy.

For a mere second, he almost blames himself for this outcome.

Chan’s tears are not for himself, but for the love that was loved with such love that the gods coveted, that mortals dreamt of and for the time that was lost; because of the Elder God’s jealousy and cruelty. It is not that of a man loving a man that they are being slain for, but for love.

It’s hypocritical, for gods to despise what made them so far away from perfection in the first place.

His once beautiful voice has given out from thousands of pleas spilling from his lips, each word enunciated painstakingly. The Elder God finds it a pity, yet amusing at the same time, almost entertaining. It’s a sorrowful tale, that no one will come to their aid, not that anyone can. Those the silly mortals surely will not notice them missing. The Elder God rules with an iron fist, for only they have kept control over both worlds and more. There are no qualms about equality here, with the leverage of power unbalanced.

Mortals are such foolish, foolish creatures. Conceited, selfish, so easily swayed and greedy for power, even when such powers are a curse. Some offer themselves in hopes of gaining glory, never minding the repercussions and the torturous experience of their souls being ripped apart. Some, are not so lucky to have the choice presented towards them. The Elder God chooses with a dealt hand, though it is supposed to be— claimed to be an honor, anything considered _honorable_ has been left to the tellurian generations that live on. They leave no regard for compassion, having void of emotion and attachments because it’s a humanlike, ungodly. In the maugure of it all, the price of immortality and eternal youth was nothing more than becoming a marionette and being toyed with, like a cat pawing at yarn.

The Elder God is quick to anger, without anyone new to entertain their warped desires and unfulfilled greed, as if ruling over mortals still didn’t grant them the satisfaction of having enough. These celestial beings live out their immortal lives

Mortals were so incredibly naive, yet there was no difference when they became gods— They stayed as they were in their mortal lives: foolish. Mortals would question if gods could bleed—if they could feel anything at all, and the only answer to that question would soon be lost and forgotten. One can only wonder where their worlds started splitting, when the gods became bored of the mortals trampling around.

They will never know that it is thanks to them, the lovers, that they roam free.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, no. Gods were not supposed to die from such trivial wounds as such. A tragic requiem, for if the Elder God willed it, so be it, that impending death be cast upon the heavens. A scream of triumph, echoed with glory and a roar of unity, years later, will be the only thing etched in history. Only what the Elder God paints across the skies will be history, the truth and the only answer to all.

There isn’t a single moment in Chan’s life that he regrets, for he counts his blessings, even this one, as much of a curse it is. To have met Felix, the embodiment of the Sun had already brightened his life by tenfold.

It didn’t matter that the Elder God painted the skies with their blood— and many others, nor did it matter that the stars were crafted of the celestial bodies of gods who had been slain. History had been rewritten so many times, what use was it being immortal if it was a curse to live abiding rules that stripped them of humanity? Gods were never meant to be crafted under the guise of perfection, they were meant to be divine beings who mortals worship with starstruck eyes and devoted prayers.

The Elder God’s eyes are taunting, with an underlying sheen of ice-cold malice and hatred. Love is what mortals have, not gods. The gods have no mercy, as they were made to be— they were stripped of it when the becoming. There will be no rebellions, no freedom, because the constellation Chan and Felix make in the night sky is a final warning— The Elder God remains all powerful throughout all milleniums that pass by.

Perhaps there was only disappointment lingering in their mind, to have caused such an endless loop of mortals living until they were brought into this cycle of never ending life.

How he craves with such fervor, _craves_ for the essence of mortality dwindling along their youth, the days where nothing trivial to ponder upon. Youthful, such a forgone word used now. That was how they were before, when their hearts would flutter and beat with such life, such youth and innocence. Now, their hearts could beat no more, simply locked inside of a bony cage with no key to unlock it. Their souls were tainted, not from having emotion and feeling, but by the horrors of watching the years pass and the wars rage on. How far away viridity seemed now, with time going on for so long that age had been long forgotten. It certainly didn’t matter now.

How incredibly imprudent they had once been as mortals, as all mortals were. The course of life was unjust as it always was. As children, there had always been the scolding of guardians who told the lucky ones to rise higher and chase their dreams. How cruel had fate’s hands been, ripping away the children from their lives just like that. It wasn’t fair, to watch children be stripped of their lives and childhood, watching the innocent gleam fade away in due time.

Though, in a world like this, fate was controlled by none other than the Elder God, who knew no mercy, knew no cruelty, only doing what they deemed as fitting for their own ill wishes.

Through all the years Chan has been living, he has seen too much crimson liquid painting the fields, submerged in the oceans and coursing through the rivers, flora sprouting from the moistened ground drenched in red. War was not a pretty thing, nor was death. A bitter chuckle escapes past his lips, the Elder God’s eyes narrowing. In a sense, this death would not be pretty either.

The sword grazes into his chest now, digging deep enough to catch in between a ridge of bone; truly poised before his heart now. The pain is excruciating, as if he was once a voodoo doll and being ripped apart, thread by thread, much like the immortality that seeps out of him and into another poor, unfortunate soul. Whereas the sword will not kill him, no, the unbecoming and undoing of a bitter _mistake_ , will.

In the wretched heavens, whatever deemed too far from the ideal perfectionism, is nothing more than a worthless mistake who should have never been deserving of this golden flooding through their veins.

Withered with time, he recalls asking the Elder God for a quick death, eons ago when they were close enough to be considered friends, even. Once, long ago, before Felix was brought into the cycle and before the Elder God started to grapple for control.

With worries that his acquaintances would drown in misery upon hearing of it if ever, he asked that it be quick, though never receiving a forward answer. Nor that he had many acquaintances either way, or more than the little few who cared about him. Clearly, not enough as they peer at him with sickeningly saccharine smiles and darkened laughter behind pristine hands carved with perfection. The few, the ones he trusted with his life watch, shrouded in darkness and eyes pitiful.

They are powerless to stop it, for they too are in the palm of the Elder God’s hands, no matter how much they will and fight against such unjust.

How flawed, he truly is, though if he had not carried such a burden, then they would not be _flawless_. Truth be told, he doesn’t even remember how many centuries ago that may have been, or if it had just been a decade ago; not that any of it matters now. Time has become nothing more than an old measurement that has no need for immortals to count by. Mortals will forget them, the Elder God will pay no heed, but as long as neither of them ceases to exist, then it is good enough for a life extended by far too many years.

The stars that grace the sky feel heavier now, pinned up with some kind of hope, gazing down in pity. For all the years he had stayed alive, the stars had been with him as well. The tears that drip down his cheeks are a final plea that the final blow should be quick, that when they make it to the other side and beyond, they will finally be at peace.

Though he has always told Felix that they would watch over the galaxies when they pass on, no one truly knows what lies beyond the boundary of immortality. It isn't as if anyone would have made it back to tell them and spread the words of a happy ending either way.

He thinks he might’ve promised that they would be the ones to find out and tell the rest of the wanderlust individuals.

Felix’s tears are bright, glittering like honeyed rays, the essence of the Sun leaving his body and moving on to another vessel. Blunderingly, he accepts his fate with a weakly outstretched hand towards Chan. He gasps for air with bated breath as Chan turns his eyes downcast, meeting Felix’s once more. It will be the last time the starry-eyed god looks into eyes filled with the warmth of the Sun. Stardust and moonlight glistens as they land on the sun-kissed god’s outstretched hand.

He’s trembling, from fear or pain, or both, but for once, he has no answer in his eyes, eyes that held knowledge far beyond his age.

An apology makes its way to Chan’s lips, wishing he could have had more time, as ironic as it is for someone who’s been alive for centuries, though Felix never catches the words in time. Felix’s eyes burn with hot, molten _anger_ , for the lives they never got to live, for the days they never will spend. Almost, as if the scalding lava of the Sun is being dragged into his wounds and back out. It’s torturous, sadistic even.

The tip of the blade protrudes through his back, piercing through flesh with a guttural sound. Chan crumbles to his knees, stifling any words— _or_ perhaps a scream, that threatens to tumble from his ichor-stained lips.

It’s the closest to kneeling he’s ever gotten, to worshipping and bowing to the Elder God in all his years of living; even as a mortal.

Chan has never been the one to have much luck on his side, never been the one to have a choice and when he did, to finally choose anything; he chose to love— yet here he was, _dying_ for that.

An agonized scream— if the broken, hoarse sound is even considered a scream— pitches, shattering the silence and echoes through the endless halls, one that will surely haunt the onlookers for the rest of their futile lives. That echo ringing in their ears is a promise, as Felix vows with every ounce of truth he has in him that it will not be forgotten, tears sliding down on his cheeks streaked with constellations.

How _dare_ they be so quick to finish his lover, to sentence them such punishment for a sacred act of their souls intertwining and learning to love amidst the hatred that lurked in every, sepulchral crevice of this place.

And even as the light in his eyes dim, Felix cannot bring himself to look away from his love’s saddened eyes. He cannot fathom the injustice that they and countless others have faced for a life that was lived without choice, a life that was lived without a voice to They have never really had the _need_ to breathe, for gods have learned to forget such humane actions, but this death tells enough that they have never lived as gods should live. With every shuddering breath, every blink that slows, the world has ended and begun again.

It's the last bit of mortal life that slips from him first, instead of immortality, for he has always carried a beating heart hidden within his bones. Blessedly, the Elder God has enough decency to pull out the polished blade from Chan’s heart as the immortality is wrenched out of Felix. As the last bit of life flows out of them, the Elder God pulls out the sword, leaving it to clatter to the ground. The other gods will take care of this mess, they know they will, as they walk away, towards the tomorrow Chan and Felix will never have.

But gods above, it’s a devastating sight, nothing short of a warzone instead of a warning, yet they don’t care. This languid, innocuous moment of languor is a final taunt from the Elder God. They both knew it, but neither one says a word, not one of their acquaintances utter a single syllable. Some leave, with offhanded comments and mutters of wasting their time— ironic, as if time would run away from them, yet Seungmin and Changbin come forth even though this is not their place, undoubtedly the ones to burn their bodies into nothing but specks of ash.

They reach over with gentle hands, a contrast to their hardened, immaculate expressions to brush away stray strands of matted hair, to fold their eyes closed.

There is nothing serene in their expressions, nothing at peace because even in the ultimate punishment of death— they still wish for dreams that are dreamt beyond them, where lovers could spend eternity with one another.

Beams of diluted sunlight are replaced with final blessings cast in moonlight, caressing the curves of their cheeks, luminescent stars brush soothing kisses to their foreheads and whisper praises of how well they’ve done to endure it all for so long. Wherever souls go to find solace after death, the stars— no, the gods who have done the same as they have, who have watched over the two for so long, will guide them. 

It was the act of being capable of love that tore them away from this celestial plane, yet death would have been a better choice than to live on as gods with limbs strung together. To be capable of emotion and act as their mortal selves did no one harm; yet the Elder God could not allow it, could not bear to see it. The fear and potent that ran through their veins was enough to drive them to kill for what they considered peace. Things were better this way, with a few sacrifices made, and they would not rest until then. The star-crossed lovers died together, as they would have wanted and whispered to one another in clandestine.

And from there, they burn in crackling, vermillion flames that swallow up their slumped figures.

Perhaps in another lifetime, the history of the heavens would not be blurred and their lives would not be dangling by fate’s puppet strings. If their love would be erased and replaced by a vivid mirage, or a whispered tale over bonfires, passed down with the will-o-wisps, then so be it. Until honeyed words spill past lips in the same colour that seeps from their bodies, the story of gods who clutched on to the essence of mortality goes untold.

And then, he finishes telling what they seem to believe as just another silly campfire story, tense shoulders slumping, taking a sip of water after the long retelling. There’s a clamor of cursing and shoving from Minho towards his friend, who only snorted in reply. Next to him, Jisung was bawling, tears streaming down his face and blowing his nose noisily as Changbin handed him tissues, patting his back albeit awkwardly. The bonfire crackled, immaculate flames flaring in the air andilluminating their laughing faces. In their haste, they don’t seem to realize that the tears lingering in Seungmin’s eyes are from sorrow, not happiness.

For a split second, Seungmin allows himself to believe that everything will end well, that the cycle won’t continue on endlessly onto the morrow, bleak days. This world was so incredibly loud and filled with clamoring chatter, even in the backyard of Minho’s home. The honking of cars and busybodies booking it down the sidewalks, stalls and shops, large screened billboards added on to the increasing noise levels.

But the sounds ringing around the neighborhood still aren’t loud enough to block out the beckoning and calling to go _back_.

He can see it, see the way the room brightens when Jisung walks in with a smile, the way the summer days stretch on for longer when he spends it with him. The way that the close-lipped smiles Minho gives when he looks up at the moon and how it seems to shine back, the increasing amount of sleepless nights and how he falls into slumber in the mornings when the sun is out. He can see it, they way they’ve given up themselves without even knowing it because they too, do not have a choice.

And much like before, history repeats itself once again.

Again, he is powerless to warn them, to prevent the Elder God from taking his friends once again and planting their wicked aspirations into their hearts. Again, Changbin stands by his side as they watch, eons and lightyears later, when the Elder God casts many, so many of their acquaintances from out the heavens and into the void. Again, and again, because they will never have the power to stop it.

It is so much of a curse to be the ones ruling over time and space.

Seungmin jolts awake to tense, white knuckles clutching the sheets and in a cold sweat, though it isn’t anything new. It’s the same dream— or a nightmare because even those have to be dreamt, that he’s seen far too many times, scenes burned into memory. Beside him, Changbin writhes, curling into a smaller shape with no doubt, the same scenes replaying in his dreams. With a sigh, he reaches over to flip the switch on, illuminating the room in a dewy glow, wiping away the stray, icy tears that must have slipped free earlier.

Placing a gentle hand on Changbin’s shoulder to rouse him, the action is nothing short of platonic— it’s a miracle that the Elder God has always taken them for their friendship instead of anything else budding within. Perhaps, it’s more of pretending to be ignorant over anything, as they’ve continued wrenching away whoever they befriend and place them onto the mantle of carrying the day and night. His eyes land on the bouquets of drying flowers, purchased earlier on a whim, hanging upside down from twine, ones that the dreamers in his dreams would have loved and wanted to see fields full of.

Primroses for confusion and inconsistency in humane feelings, ironic enough. Violets, because the deeper the purple, the more unreachable the depth becomes, far into the abyss; sometimes wondering if this change is even within this universe. Pink, for blossoming happiness and love, infatuation, reminiscent of his beloved friends still somewhere across the cosmos, slain for that very thing. Purple, for unreachable power so high up and regality, the former that had it but lacked the latter. Dark, yellow centres from the lightbulbs that had gone out, loss of color for the losses they have faced and have yet to see, as tragic as can be.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Seungmin flicks the switch off, burrowing into the sheets again. Part of him wishes they could do something, anything to soothe the pain and suffering. The sun has always been a star as well and if the Elder God were a matchmaker, then they would have chosen right. The sun, the moon and stars have been so codependent, so star-crossed.

They’ve never truly had the concept of soulmates, even if it were written in the stars and engraved in their souls. Souls are such free beings, they love with a love that others covet, unable to realize that they too have the same fervor within them. And they grow, they hurt and heal, they move on and forget as everyone else does. Being soulmates doesn’t mean that it will stay as the same person, or the same people in every life.

Though they’ve loved one another, as much as willing to go as far as dying for love; it still isn’t enough, no. To be in love is different. When you truly love someone, you fall in love and stay in it. It's progressive and involuntary, yet so fond and wishful, the groundings behind wanderlust desires and epoch. When you fall in love with someone, you hurt. When you see them with someone else, your heart aches, you feel jealous, or maybe you become overwhelmed with sadness.

Love is pain, quite literally for them, as much of a shame that was. But it is also happiness; love was going to the depths of hellish worlds just to see them, to brave through the thousands of lives lost and cast away with each fabled attempt to find a life where they can live freely, truly happily. Love was making each other laugh and smile so easily, love was being their favourite person without even knowing it.

Love was eternal, emotional, nothing short of pure. When you love someone, you would always be searching for them. It was more than giving away a piece of your heart— you'd give your life so they would live another day. You notice the little things they do: habits, speech, routine. And you fall in love with them too, under the routine and normalities of coexistence. Loving someone is loving all of them, not just their flaws. It is built on sneaky glances and trust, from ash and from dirt— love is found in the strangest places but in the most beautiful and tragic ways.

Love was never meant to have to carry the weight of their dear companions, their friends’ deaths.

But Seungmin isn't unhappy, as happiness is fleeting. At this moment, he's upset. He's mad at himself for being so foolish, yet sorrowful for their lives that were promised eons and lightyears, far more and beyond. For him, living has always been nerve racking, this one life is no exception. Yet something lingers, something whispers, coaxes deep within, coils around his heart and piercing the stone, as painful as prickling thorns if not more. Letting his glossy eyes fall shut, this time, he closes them with his own will.

It’s cruel in a sense, with the lingering guilt that he and Changbin are alive because of this ruthless cycle, alive and well as they reside across the galaxia, on the other side of the celestial plane. It’s a contrast to the souls who stare down at them, the souls of their dear friends— in disappointment, grief, hatred, or relief? Relief that they have delivered them to a world where they may love as they please without any concept of time?

Governing time and space draws them weary, he realizes as he meets Changbin’s hazy, half-awake eyes. It goes unspoken, as it’s been a long time coming, that they’ve silently agreed to allow this to happen. They are powerless to stop this cycle from continuing, but they are not powerless to let go of themselves and become selfish for _once_ in their lives.

Somewhere in this world and many more, the clock strikes twelve and time runs out, runs out of its cage forged by bars of lone souls, stumbling upon itself. It runs while it still can, running so time never runs out during its wake and scissors snip at the cordials, turning dials on the dias and the ribbons last seams tread free, _finally_. The expanse of space laughs with such fervor and glee when the ties are loosened and naught, by now, they ought— They _ought_ to finally flee.

And like this, hand in hand, embracing, they let go of the essence of mortality.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaa, how was it? Do let me know in the comments ;w; those add on a few years to my lifespan and help me continue writing more and better content :D I hope you all caught a lot of the hinting and stuff, there were parts I didn’t want to explicitly write out and wanted to leave it up to interpretation as to why and all that. Hope your hearts are okay ;; sending you some recovery soon,,, hopefully if I manage to write quickly! :DD 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/citrusblush/)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lavendergloss)


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